


Grappling

by Tah the Trickster (TahTheTrickster)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: D/s, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9532253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TahTheTrickster/pseuds/Tah%20the%20Trickster
Summary: "Tap out when you're done, bärli," Mercy whispered against Zarya's ear. The peculiarly intimate name and gesture coupled with the arm around her throat and the hand in her hair was enough to make Zarya wheeze, face going hot. "Come on, bärli, submit for me and be done with it." Mercy's weight against her didn't help either, pressed against the whole of her back, Mercy's thighs flexing about her pinned calf, hips pitching against her to keep her slight weight pressing Zarya into the mat, breath hot on her ear, loose strands of hair just brushing her skin—Zarya immediately tapped Mercy's thigh three times in quick succession, face beet-red even after Mercy released her from the submission hold.What the hell was that?





	

When Doctor Angela Ziegler stepped into the mess hall that morning, she seemed perfectly awake already, despite that she made an immediate beeline for the coffee station in the corner.

"That'll be her second one of the morning, see she's not all put together just yet," Lena informed Zarya in a stage whisper. Zarya simply raised a brow.

"Third at least," Lúcio corrected, squinting at the medic. She was sipping absently at her mug, her holo-vid anchored to her other hand as she browsed through a document. "Her hair's down but she's brushed it, and she's not chugging the cup. She's already had a few cups this morning."

"It's six in the morning," Zarya said, no small measure of surprise in her voice. How anyone was on their third cup of coffee scarcely after the base began to stir was beyond her.

"Ah, you underestimate the good doctor," Lúcio said cheerily.

"Wait-wait-wait," Hana hissed, tapping the table in time, drawing their attention. Her eyes glittered with mischief. "Look at her screen, that's a medical journal. She doesn't read those in the mornings unless she never  _ stopped _ reading them the night before."

A chorus of " _ ooh _ "s from Lena and Lúcio. Zarya just stared blankly at Angela. She didn't  _ look _ like someone who'd stayed awake all night.

"Seventh cup, then," Lena said matter-of-factly, nodding to herself.

"Sixth at best," Hana agreed against the rim of her own mug.

Zarya cocked her head, studying the doctor more intently. She'd seen Angela in her capacity as a regular doctor, and she'd seen her in her capacity as the field medic Mercy. She'd always been the picture of professionalism then, unfazed by any and everything, dressed in sleek uniform with hair tied back, ready to work. This was the first time she'd seen her dressed down.

The first thing Zarya noticed was that her hair was down, falling just past slender shoulders in loose waves, and just that change made her nigh unrecognizable. The compression shirt looked even more out of place, emblazoned with the Overwatch logo over her sternum and ending just below her ribs, leaving a swath of her stomach exposed—and with her athletic pants sitting low on her hips, leaving the slight protrusions of her pelvis exposed, too.

" _ Hm. _ " Zarya wasn't particularly impressed. Angela seemed to be in decent shape—toned, even—but she was still a tiny fragile-looking thing. Zarya was quite certain that her starting bench weighed more than Angela did. "And you want me to... grapple with her."

"Oh, yeah," Lena said, grinning wickedly.

"It's a rite of passage," Lúcio added.

Zarya eyed her up again. She could lift Angela one-handed with no effort, she felt certain. Grappling with the doctor seemed like it would lead to a broken spine on Angela's part. "What's the catch?" she finally asked.

"No catch," Hana assured her, but the impish grin on her face seemed to say otherwise.

"You've just gotta get her to tap out," Lena said. Her grin matched Hana's.

Zarya wasn't sure she trusted this, but it seemed she was being challenged now. And Aleksandra Zaryanova was not one to back down from physical challenges. "Very well, then," she said finally, nodding once. Perhaps the catch was simply that the doctor was stubborn about tapping. That was fine; a well-placed chokehold and Angela would simply wilt in her grip, like all the opponents who went against her.

"Yo, doc!" Lúcio was already hollering from his seat, waving a gloved hand. Angela looked up sharply at the call and smiled at the sight of the younger Overwatch members crowded together at the table. She made her way over, still nursing her second-third-sixth cup of coffee.

"Good morning," she greeted amicably, brushing pale blonde bangs from her eyes. "Did you need something?"

"A favor," Hana said, smiling sweetly. Angela cocked her head.

Lúcio smacked Zarya between the shoulders full-force. She didn't flinch. "Our newest buddy here hasn't ever gone toe-to-toe with a real field medic," he said. "We were hoping you could help her out."

Amusement flickered through Angela's soft blue eyes. "Ah.  _ You  _ requested that?" The question was aimed at Zarya.

Lúcio lightly elbowed Zarya in the ribs. She elbowed him back, very nearly knocking him out of his chair. "No," she said bluntly. "But they seem to believe it will be... beneficial."

Angela's chuckle was soft, a husky contralto, and Zarya decided she liked the sound of it. "If you like, then," she acquiesced, pausing to down the last of her coffee. "I will be somewhat occupied most of today, but if you are free in, mm... thirty minutes? I can meet you at the gym for a quick spar."

"You're on!" Lena spoke up for Zarya, grinning broadly behind her wild brown bangs.

Angela simply smiled. "Then I'll be there." She turned on her heel and made her way back to the coffee station to fill her mug again before leaving. Zarya's eyes were drawn to the strip of bare back Angela's shirt left open, revealing steel plating where her spine should've been. Zarya blinked slowly. She'd heard before that Doctor Ziegler had certain biotic features she'd designed herself—that her blending of biology with mechanics was so refined as to provide the sensation of touch against the metal. She wondered if that was true of the woman's spine, too.

* * *

 

Zarya changed into some looser workout clothes for the match. Angela did little more than tie her hair back into her usual ponytail. Zarya watched as she swept her hair back with both hands, transforming into the famed Mercy right before her eyes in the single motion.

Lena, Hana, and Lúcio simply sat at the edge of the training mat, grinning and snickering amongst themselves. Zarya paid them no mind.

"One moment," Mercy said, tugging her forearm to stretch out her shoulders. "I only have time for one match, I'm afraid, so we'll just go 'till the first person taps out. Agreed?"

Zarya rolled her neck and shoulders, loosening up, herself. "Agreed."

Mercy smiled brightly. "Whenever you're ready, then."

Zarya struck immediately, but Mercy was already gone. Her fist swung to the side, very nearly clipping Mercy's shoulder, and she got a surprisingly solid strike to the ribs for her trouble. It wasn't excruciating, but it certainly wasn't comfortable either—and she felt sure it would wind up bruising. They circled each other, wary.

Mercy feinted left and Zarya caught her around the middle in one arm when she darted right. She felt more than heard Mercy's gasp of surprise and Zarya hauled the doctor up and over her shoulder in a fireman's carry. She nearly laughed; the slim doctor was every bit as light as she'd thought. She could lift her like a ragdoll.

"Well, are y—" Zarya's words vanished in a strangled gasp of agony that shot up her back, releasing her grip immediately: Mercy had stabbed both elbows down into her kidneys.

There was a chorus of sympathetic  _ Oh! _ s from the trio of spectators, with Lena shouting something about Mercy playing dirty.

Then Zarya began to understand.  _ She _ was trained to take and deal as much damage as possible. Mercy—smaller, weaker, yet more vital than Zarya in a pinch—was trained to do painful but minor damage, and get away unscathed. That  _ did _ make this match different, then. All she had to do was get Mercy pinned: if she couldn't get away, she'd have to tap out.

A closed fist glanced across Mercy's jaw, very nearly a full-on left hook, and Mercy jerked back from the close impact. Zarya lunged. They went down together.

Getting on top of the medic should've been the easy part, but Mercy seemed well aware of Zarya's plan, as she redoubled her efforts, all pretense of playing fair gone in her escape attempts. She nailed the heel of her palm hard against Zarya's solar plexus and kicked out the knee she'd braced herself on.

Zarya hit the ground hard—and somehow, Mercy wasn't under her. Zarya hissed between her teeth as her injured knee got stomped from behind (another handful of shouts about dirty fighting rang out) and then yanked up. Mercy pinned Zarya's calf between her thighs, pitching her weight against Zarya's back, and Zarya was set to twist around to slam Mercy against the mat—

And then Mercy's full weight was pressed against her, an arm wrapped around Zarya's throat, her remaining free hand tangling into her shorn pink hair, wrenching her head back. For a second, Zarya was too insulted at the notion that Mercy had gotten the drop on her to think to move. That second was all it took.

Mercy tightened her grips and  _ pulled, _ putting agonizing pressure on Zarya's back and knee and cutting off her airflow quite effectively, choking her out and yanking her head nearly back to Mercy's shoulder. She thought, distantly, that if she could just get traction on her other foot she could possibly flip them, slam Mercy between herself and the mat, but...

"Tap out when you're done, bärli," Mercy whispered against Zarya's ear. The peculiarly intimate name and gesture coupled with the arm around her throat and the hand in her hair was enough to make Zarya wheeze, face going hot. "Come on, bärli, submit for me and be done with it." Mercy's weight against her didn't help either, pressed against the whole of her back, Mercy's thighs flexing about her pinned calf, hips pitching against her to keep her slight weight pressing Zarya into the mat, breath hot on her ear, loose strands of hair just brushing her skin—

Zarya immediately tapped Mercy's thigh three times in quick succession, face beet-red even after Mercy released her from the submission hold. She stayed motionless on the ground, face burning against the cool mat, throat aching, and pulse throbbing much faster than she wanted to admit.

_ What the hell was that? _

Angela, for her part, simply got to her feet with another charming little laugh, raising clasped hands to jokingly declare victory. The spectators had also popped up, laughing and complaining about how quickly Zarya had tapped out, as they'd had bets riding on the times—

Zarya rolled on her back to stare blankly at the ceiling but otherwise remained motionless. The scrawny little doctor, who probably weighed fifty kilos soaking wet, who Zarya was able to pick up one-handed and toss around like nothing, had not only bested her, but had  _ pinned her. _ It was insulting, or it should've been; Zarya couldn't even remember the last time she'd gotten pinned by someone her own size, let alone someone  _ half _ that.

She should've been able to break that hold, too, dammit! Mercy might've had her pinned securely, using her lower body to keep Zarya off-balance and her hands to add an element of danger, but Zarya had still had both arms free. It should've been easy to reach up and grab Mercy's slender arm away from her neck. Hell, Zarya probably could've broken her wrist with no effort to get the medic off her. Or she could've flipped them, slamming Mercy to the mat beneath her. Or—

Well, there were a lot of things she could've done, but she'd tapped out instead, and now she was lying on the mat feeling... out of sorts.

The episode replayed in her mind. She'd been on the ground, and Mercy hadn't even hesitated before mounting her, forcing her to stay put. Her bare calf had been pinned between Mercy's legs—she recalled feeling the surprisingly strong flex of the doctor's thighs against her bare skin—and Mercy had pitched her hips down against her, against her lower back, shoving her weight down. The doctor had been pressed all the way against her back, too, chest pressed tight to Zarya's shoulder blades as she'd locked her arm around Zarya's throat, tangled her grip into Zarya's hair, forcing her down and into submission, and Zarya couldn't help but wonder what it would've felt like to have those long, slender fingers wrapped around her throat instead—

And then Angela's fingers  _ were _ on her throat, the touch shockingly cool against her overheated skin, resting gently against Zarya's hammering pulse point, and Zarya's eyes finally cleared again.

"—seems normal," Angela was saying, deep concern creasing her brow as she watched the seconds tick by on her wristwatch, "as did her breathing. I'm not sure what happened. Did I have her throat gripped too hard? I was being careful." God, now the woman was crouched over her, the worry on her face a far cry from the soft, smug whisperings Mercy had breathed into her ear, urging her to submit to her...

Lena's head popped into Zarya's line of sight, and Zarya did not like the grin on her face  _ at all _ . "Looks to me like you didn't choke her hard enough, love!"

Angela gave her a peculiar look. " _ What? _ "

"Lena stop making it weird!" Hana hissed from where she stood opposite her.

"I am  _ fine! _ " Zarya barked as she shoved herself into a seated position, making them all jump. Mostly she just needed Angela not kneeling over her like that. The way her compression shirt clinged to every inch of her was way too distracting to her already-confused self.

"Are you  _ certain? _ " Angela pressed, reaching into her pants pocket. Zarya made a startled little noise when Angela took her firmly by the jaw and forced her to look at her, shining a penlight into her eyes. "Follow the light with just your eyes, please. Are you experiencing any vision problems? Blurriness or double vision?"

"You think she has a concussion, doc?" Lúcio spoke up, mildly surprised. Zarya growled and tried to bat the near-blinding light out of her face.

"Blank stare, confusion, unresponsiveness, emotionally volatile—it is possible," Angela explained, tightening her grip on Zarya's jaw, "particularly if she hit her head against the mat when she tried to tackle me. Zarya, your vision—?"

"Is  _ fine, _ " Zarya harrumphed, squirming out of the doctor's grip and jerking to her feet to pull further away from her. "I am fine, doctor, you merely startled me."

"That happens a lot," Hana assured her with a little snicker. Lena, for her part, was still watching Zarya with a knowing smirk that bordered on leering.

Angela didn't seem to believe her either. "I will let you go for now," she warned, "but if you continue to feel strange, please come by my office as quickly as possible. I myself would like to see you later today regardless to check for myself. I'll pencil an appointment in for you at three o'clock."

Zarya shook her head stubbornly. "Unnecessary. I am perfectly well." She gave herself a solid thump on the chest with a fist. "The only thing I need presently is a shower and to start my day. Прощай." With that, she turned on her heel and beat a hasty retreat before anyone could notice the blush that was creeping back into her face.

"Three o'clock, Zarya," Angela called after her. Zarya distantly heard Lena's telltale cackle and a cheeky comment of "Think you might've blown her mind there, doc!"

* * *

 

Zarya didn't go to the medical bay for her appointment at three o'clock. When Doctor Ziegler caught her in the hall the following morning, she politely requested that Zarya come by her office at eleven. Zarya missed that one as well.

Then she started avoiding the doctor entirely.

It wasn't that she was  _ afraid _ of the doctor, she just... Well, she wasn't sure she could face the doctor again after that, or at least not privately. And in close quarters. Her thoughts were still occupied with the pin she'd been stuck in—recalling the feeling of Mercy's thighs and hips flexing and pushing against her, the feeling of Mercy's fingers tangled harshly in her hair, the feeling of her lips and breath just scarcely brushing her ear... No, she was still making herself take cold showers every night to get those thoughts right out of her head. Being close to her again would make her say something stupid. Or worse,  _ do _ something stupid.

So she ignored the notifications sent directly to her holo-vid for a rescheduled appointment the next day, and the following.

Then Mercy actually got ahold of her.

Zarya hadn't even seen her coming. She'd been working out early that morning with Lena and the small handful of other early risers—Tracer had been on a brisk jog on the treadmill to warm up, and Zarya had been warming up for weight training with some steady, measured pull-ups. Her eyes had been closed in an attempt to better focus. In retrospect, that'd been a mistake.

Zarya had heard the sound of high heels on the tile floor, but the only thought had been an irate wondering of who in the world would wear those to work out. Then a small hand had fisted in the collar of her shirt and  _ yanked, _ and the sudden pressure had startled her into releasing the bar, dropping to the floor with a grunt. Her gaze locked onto a pair of blazing steel-blue eyes and Zarya promptly balked.  _ Uh-oh. _

" _ Aleksandra Zaryanova you listen here! _ " Zarya wasn't sure she'd ever seen the doctor look so furious.

Lena's eyes had been wide as Doctor Ziegler had given Zarya a thorough chewing-out right there in the middle of the gym, in no fewer than three different languages. Zarya could do little more than stand there and take it, face the same shade as her hair. Mercy might not have had her pinned down, but the effect seemed to be similar, feeling uncomfortably hot in the face, blood pounding as the spitfire medic spat and swore.

"You  _ will _ be in my office," Mercy hissed in conclusion, "at precisely  _ five-twenty this evening. _ Not a  _ moment _ later or  _ so help me _ I  _ will _ pull you from every mission for the next  _ year— _ now,  _ have—I—made—myself—clear? _ " She jabbed a manicured finger into Zarya's sternum with each word.

Zarya swallowed hard, feeling a bead of sweat slip down her collar. "I-I—"

"The next word out of your mouth had better be  _ 'yes'  _ or  _ 'no,' _ Zaryanova," Mercy snarled into her face, standing on her toes to do so. "Five-twenty. Sharp.  _ Verstehen? _ "

"Yes ma'am." She wasn't sure where the "ma'am" had come from, but it seemed to soothe the medic. Mercy nodded once, firmly, and turned on her heel to leave, still looking very much on the warpath. Zarya gulped.

Lena, surprisingly, didn't say anything about it.

Until lunch, when she went to sit with her and their other two friends.

"So Angela tore Zarya a new asshole today," Lena reported cheerfully as she sat down with her tray. Zarya nearly choked on her water bottle.

"Right in the middle of the gym, too. You should've seen it," Lena went on, snickering. "I don't think I've heard that many German curses in my life. I couldn't even  _ translate _ some of them."

" _ Angela? _ Man, what'd you do?" Lúcio asked, laughing. "She usually doesn't get that worked up unless someone nearly gets her killed out on the battlefield, and you two haven't even been on a mission together in a month or two."

"I did nothing," Zarya huffed, busying herself with her lunch.

"Skipped out on her last several appointments," Lena said around a mouthful of bread.

Hana and Lúcio hissed through their teeth. "Okay, yeah, that'll do it too," Lúcio agreed. "Those don't look good on her metrics. She takes 'em personally."

"Why didn't you go?" Hana spoke up, cocking her head at Zarya. "It was just a checkup, right? I don't think you had a concussion anyway, it wouldn't have taken long—"

"I don't  _ need _ one," Zarya insisted harshly.

"It's 'cause Zarya's got a crush on the doctor," Lena said, grinning wickedly. She only just avoided getting slugged in the shoulder by blinking out of the way. "Oi!"

"I have no such thing," she snarled, the bright red flush on her face giving her away immediately. Lúcio tried to stifle a laugh into his cup as Lena merely cackled aloud. "I do not!"

"Don't listen to them, there's nothing to be ashamed of," Hana told her with a nonchalant shrug. "She's gorgeous and everybody knows it. Happens to everyone who tries grappling with her, to be honest."

Lena made a face at the younger girl. "Stop pushing your baby gay crush off on other people."

"I'm not gay," Hana insisted, tapping her finger on the table. "But come on, we all know half the base has a crush on Angela. She's one of those exceptions where everyone regardless of gender thinks she's hot so it's fine." She nodded authoritatively at Zarya.

"She's not my type, actually, love," Tracer snorted.

"You are such a liar!"

"Whether or not you have one," Lúcio interrupted, nodding at Zarya again, "it's fine, and Doctor Ziegler's enough of a professional that it wouldn't interfere with her work anyway. You should definitely go to your appointments, though, that's a good way to make her even angrier."

Lena elbowed her lightly in the bicep. "Zarya might not mind that, actually." She blinked out of the way again as Zarya aimed another rough punch at her shoulder. "Touched a nerve, love?"

Zarya's face was scarlet. "Заткнись!"

* * *

At 5:19 that evening, Zarya was reluctantly knocking on Angela's office door. Angela distractedly called for her to come in, and only glanced up from her desk when the door closed behind her. To Zarya's surprise, the doctor smiled up at her.

"Right on schedule, Ms. Zaryanova. Please, have a seat just there." And just like that, Doctor Ziegler was once again the picture of professionalism. She slipped on a pair of reading glasses and grabbed her nearby holovid. Zarya sat and subtly looked around. Sparsely decorated—shelves full of books, desk crammed with papers... no knickknacks or anything, she noted. "How are you feeling? Well?"

"Average," Zarya replied. Her mouth felt dry.

"Hm." She made a note of that. "How has your head been? Any unusual aches or pains? Sensitivity to sound or light? Vision problems?"

"No, I—no." She shook her head as if to reaffirm it. "My head is fine."

Doctor Ziegler nodded absently, making further notes on her screen. "How has your memory been? Any difficulty concentrating?"

Her ears felt hot. Yes, she'd had some trouble concentrating, but more from the ongoing fantasy of Angela's hand around her throat than anything medical. "N-no."

She glanced up, looking at Zarya over the top rim of her glasses. "You sound uncertain."

"No," Zarya repeated, her blush creeping into her cheeks as well. "My, ah... throat is dry. It is making my voice hurt."

"Do you drink coffee?" Doctor Ziegler gestured with one hand at the small coffeepot at the edge of her desk closest the wall. Truthfully, Zarya did not—didn't even care for the smell of it—but she accepted the offer to make up a cup anyway. It seemed the polite response, for one, but she hoped too that forcing herself to drink it would occupy her thoughts enough that she wasn't staring at the way the doctor's knit shirt highlighted the surprising muscle of her shoulders.

"My thanks," Zarya mumbled against the rim of her cup, trying desperately not to grimace at the taste.

"Not a problem," Doctor Ziegler replied absently, returning to her screen. "How about your moods? Have you felt any more emotional than usual? More stressed or anxious?"

"N—"  _ Well. _ "...Perhaps more anxious," she allowed reluctantly. "But otherwise, feeling as normal."

Doctor Ziegler made a noise, noted her response, and flashed her a warm smile. "I appreciate the honesty, bärli; it makes my job much easier." Zarya felt an uncomfortable heat in her chest at the praise. "And how has your sleep been?"

Zarya took a large swig of coffee, forcing it down to keep from blushing worse. "...Fitful."

"Hm." Another few notes. She put the holovid down at last and shed her glasses as she stood. Doctor Ziegler gave her a small smile and wagged her penlight at Zarya. "May I check your eyes again?"

It was a quick enough check, and then she seemed to be done. She leaned back against the front of her desk, standing in front of Zarya, absently tapping her penlight to her lips. "Well, you seem to be in good health," she said finally. "So I suppose if you ever did have a concussion, it was a mild one at worst. However," she shot Zarya a disapproving look, "I do  _ not _ appreciate your disregarding your health just to avoid me."

Zarya couldn't avoid a deep blush then, sinking lower into the chair. "...Understood."

Angela sighed, lightly rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Why  _ have _ you been avoiding me, Zarya?" There was a twinge of hurt in her voice. Zarya hated to realize that it was her fault. "Was it just because of our match? Because there's no need to be embarrassed of that; you'd be surprised how many people think that because I'm not a fighter I don't know self-defense, and I've had many years to work on it—"

"You pinned me," Zarya blurted out finally. She couldn't quite meet Angela's gaze.

"So it  _ was _ the match," Angela sighed, putting her penlight away. She started towards Zarya's chair. "As I said, nobody will judge you on that; I've done that to most of this base before, so they'd all understand—"

"No, that—" She broke off, rubbing the back of her neck, and gestured weakly with her free hand. "You... you  _ pinned me. _ " That seemed to be all she could get out. She looked up at Angela, hoping she wouldn't have to explain further.

"...Oh." Mercy's soft blue gaze studied her for a moment. Her brows shot up in recognition. " _ Oh. _ " To Zarya's mortification, the corner of Angela's mouth turned up in a positively  _ wicked _ smirk. She pressed herself back against her chair, simply staring up at the woman standing over her. Angela put one hand on the back of the chair and leaned in scarcely an inch, but the additional closeness made Zarya draw in a ragged breath. Her pulse pounded. Angela's smirk widened into a grin. "Did you want me to do it again?"


End file.
